Far Less Mine
by labyrinthine
Summary: Ladies and Gentlemen, Tom Hanks.


Title: Far Less Mine  
  
Author: labyrinthine  
  
E-mail: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com  
  
Rating/Classification: PG/Syd POV, challengefic  
  
Summary: Ladies and Gentlemen, Tom Hanks.  
  
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.  
  
A/N: It's allowed to not make sense. Entry for the December 02 cover me challenge, because it's been long since established that I'm a whore for the challengefic. It's also a one night stand fic without a beta, so take it as you will. Title from 'strange design.' This goes to Hil and Eff for being the juiciest guests I have ever entertained, and to Live Phish for hooking us up with a 24 hour tape turnaround. This does not go out to Tickets by Mail, Ticketmaster, scalpers, or posters at the Jambands ticket board - they can collectively bite me. Thanks.  
  
*  
  
There was something to be said for soundproof walls, Sydney thought, as she turned her head into the pillow with the hopes two extra inches of down could block out the wail of a fire engine racing outside. Francie and she had been drawn to the idea of extra security if need be when house hunting, and the place came with the comfort that fire, police and hospital services were all within a two mile radius. Just in case, they had said, with smiles on their faces as they signed the deed. Safety first.  
  
At three in the morning, cocooned in the rustle of pressed sheets and a dented pillow, Syd could think of many, many more important things than safety. With a power breakfast meeting at SD-6 scheduled in four hours, she pressed the pillow over her head again, and drifted off trying remembering the last time she had made an important decision on more than six hours of sleep.  
  
*  
  
Sloane had been more than agreeable in granting time off for the holidays. Whether it was due to distraction over personal issues or the heightened difficulty in pulling off successful missions when the schedules of those you intended to spy on were so unpredictable, she was happy for the reprise. Finally, she had thought as she walked out of Credit Dauphine for the last time, some time alone.  
  
A week and a half to herself, however, and she was still unable to achieve a full night's rest. She tried attributing it to stress, the bustle of the holidays, too much caffeine. Regardless, she still woke up in the middle of the night, visions of failed missions and lost chances dancing behind her eyelids. The local paper that conned Francie into buying home delivery had a grainy, vivid picture of a burning warehouse on the front page two days earlier. The building was walking distance from their house; she and Vaughn had met there twice in the beginning before it was decided to find a location farther from her residence. Local police were still investigating the cause of the blaze, with squatters setting a fire that turned uncontrollable the frontrunner.  
  
It upset her, in secret. Her rational side just brushed it off, because who loses sleep over an accidental fire over a mile away. Yet rationality made little difference, and the grainy print photo aged in her memory. It reminded her of fires she had set without looking back, and beliefs that were not as invincible as they first appeared.  
  
*  
  
The ticking of her desk clock shook Sydney from sleep, and she opened her eyes, momentarily displaced. Curled up on the couch with a chenille throw long since frayed at the edges, she took in the empty apartment and muted television. Confetti and aerial shots of ebullient crowds filled the tv screen, and the plastic wrap left over from Will's stylized "2003" glow-in- the-dark glasses sat precariously on the edge of the coffeetable. Damnit.  
  
She had missed new years. Just a quick moment to rest her eyes had turned into a forty minutes nap, and the countdown had already passed. Sydney groped for the remote and turned off the set, focusing on not feeling so suddenly angry at herself.  
  
It wasn't missing the show that distressed her; she rarely paid attention to the network specials and had no qualms about bowing out of the party Francie was holding at the restaurant. It was the moment, the precious seconds where one year ended and the next began, one with a clean slate and endless possibilities. Danny had felt the same way, and every year they would eschew going out in lieu of curling up on the couch and waiting for the year to turn. He would kiss her as soon as the countdown would end - his idea - so he would be the first memory she had of the new year. Syd had thought it a bit charming if not unnecessary at the time, but never took it for granted. She was unable to stay up to midnight last year because she knew with his absence there would be no new years kiss, and she had dreaded any memory at all superceding the one Danny would have given, if he had been alive.  
  
And now, she had missed it. Her first memory of the year was not one of happiness or content security or even longing for what the year would be without. The memory was confusion, disorientation, and a panging sense of self castigation.  
  
The chenille entrapping dust as it dragged behind her feet, Sydney made her way to her bedroom and shut the door. There was no reason to stay awake any longer.  
  
Happy new year, she whispered to herself, too exhausted to intonate the sarcasm laced behind the comment. Tightening the blankets around her frame, she waited for sleep to overtake her, and tried not to think about what might have been.  
  
*  
  
It was almost a relief to get back to work. Purpose and direction, set tasks and expectations to be met, and while Sydney was sure she would be sick of it before the week was out, it was nice to have something in front of her again. Besides, she had bought some really sweet shoes with the Bass gift card Francie gave her for Christmas, and it wasn't like she was going to wear them moping around the house.The infrared scan was comfortable in its familiarity, and Sydney looked forward to catching up with what she had missed during her absence from work and, just as importantly she thought with a smile, the water cooler.  
  
As she entered the bullpen, she felt something brush her shoulder. Glanced up, she noticed a spring of mistletoe, haphazardly taped to the main entranceway, probably by a tall and opportunistic prankster. Or maybe someone with actual intentions of livening up the place a bit, perhaps. Either way it was long since neglected - the leaves had darkened and withered, the berries overcome by gravity. Sydney reached up to dislodge what was left, reveling in the contact of crushed leaves on her palm.  
  
She gave it no more thought other than to toss it into the nearest garbage and dust her hands free of the rest. No one liked reminders of a past forgotten, and no one wanted to kiss under wilted leaves.  
  
*  
  
Sydney grimaced as she felt the newspaper ink rub on her fingers as she crumpled up the paper for kindling. The front page story was retread: the warehouse fire was caused by a freak spark setting off firecrackers local kids had stored inside. She had all but forgotten about it; making up for lost time, she was working under Sloane's thumb and had been looking forward to a night by herself in front of the fireplace all week. Pushing the paper underneath the iron shelf with the wood, she threw in a match and relocated to the corner armoire to wait as the fire caught and built.  
  
Her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, as she felt the heat from the fire warm the room, shadows dancing about the far wall with the shift of flames illuminating the space. Legs tucked underneath her, she slowly let her eyes close. The fire ebbed as the wood was consumed, the ashes collecting and scattering across the base of the fireplace. In the morning there would be nothing left but charred black and grey soot, but in this moment the reds and blues of flickering light endured, as if they had a life of their own. Life in the face of certain, imminent end, and the wonder is that you never see it coming.  
  
*  
  
Far Less Mine  
  
elabyrinthine@yahoo.com 


End file.
